Beauty (5 page)
‘And mark your path on the walls or in the dust,’ he said. ‘So you can see where you’ve been and find your way back here.’ This time he did give her a small smile and she liked the creases that formed in his cheeks, as if in his normal life he smiled a lot. The instruction was for her alone. The prince might be used to finding his way round castles, but she most definitely wasn’t.
T
he ground floor of a castle, she’d decided within an hour or so, was a very strange affair. There were three ballrooms; two light and airy and with ceilings painted with beautiful dancing couples, and another further back – which could only be accessed through a library and then a small annexed corridor – that was painted red and decorated with ornate gold and heavy black curtains. It was an odd contrast with the other two and she decided she didn’t like it very much at all. The air had a metallic tang to it and, although she was technically trespassing wherever she went, this was the only room in which she felt she’d invaded something secret. No one was sleeping in any of the main function rooms, all of which were breath-taking and yet slightly impersonal and as she explored them she decided that royal residences were clearly as much about the visitors as they were about the family that lived there. It was clearly a strange thing to be a royal.
In some kind of meeting room, several grey-haired men in sombre robes were asleep on thick documents and open books and more soldiers slept in the doorways. A jug of wine had been knocked across the table and where it had soaked into the polished wood and scattered papers, the stains looked like blood on the large table.
She felt happier when she found the smaller, more ordinary rooms where servants were working. In one long corridor boot boys slept over pots of polish, and in the kitchens the tables were full of half-made pies and pastries, the cooks and maids crumpled on the cold stone floor. Despite the huntsman’s orders not to touch anyone or anything, Petra dipped her finger in an open apple pie and then tasted it. The filling was sweet and fresh as if the mixture had been placed inside only minutes before. She ate some more. At least they wouldn’t starve while they were here. There would be enough food in the city to keep them going for several hundred years.
An echo of a shout carried its way to her and she frowned, abandoning the pie and running back towards the centre of the building, her shoes slapping against the floor and raising dust in her wake. Was that danger? The shout came again. Closer this time.
‘I’ve found something. I need help!’
She almost collided with the huntsman as she rounded a corner into the central hallway and without pausing they both ran up the sweeping staircase, taking the steps two at a time, following the prince’s shouts until they found him in a set of luxurious apartments in the middle of the castle.
Petra stood in the bedroom doorway and her mouth dropped open.
‘We’ve got to do something,’ the prince said. ‘We’ve got to help.’
Petra cautiously followed the huntsman inside the vast room. At its centre was a large four poster bed, covered in sheets and blankets of pure, soft white. Sheer linen curtains hung around it, tied back to the posts with ribbons like curtains. In a glass by the bed, a single red rose sat in water, all of its petals scattered around the glass save the last one which drooped low but still clung to the stem. A beautiful young woman lay sleeping on the bed. She was fully dressed in a blue silk gown and jewels sparkled at her neck. Her full lips were parted slightly as if something had just surprised her, and her hair, jet black apart from two thick blonde streaks on either side, spread out across the pillow in glossy waves. She was beautiful, but she was also incredibly pale. Given the state of the floor around the bed, that wasn’t a surprise to Petra.
Blood. It was everywhere. A pool of it, thick and crimson, had spread beneath her and now almost circled the large bed. The girl’s right hand hung over the side of the bed and as Petra stared at it a single tiny drop of blood fell from her forefinger to the floor.
‘It’s her finger,’ she whispered. ‘Look. She must have pricked her finger.’
‘Have you got any bandages?’ the huntsman asked. ‘Any salve?’
‘Maybe.’ Petra yanked the small bag her granny had packed from her shoulder and tipped the contents out over the end of the bed, taking a careful step to avoid the blood. ‘Is she still alive? She must have lost nearly all her blood.’
The prince leaned over the bed and placed one hand on the girl’s chest. ‘Yes!’ he exclaimed, smiling. ‘She’s breathing. Just.’ He didn’t lift his hand though, but ran it up the sleeping beauty’s body. ‘I’ve never seen a girl like her,’ he whispered. ‘She’s perfect.’
‘I don’t think you should be touching her like that,’ Petra said as she handed the huntsman a small jar of her granny’s natural antiseptic. ‘She’s asleep. You can’t go around touching girls when they’re asleep.’
The prince either wasn’t listening or chose to ignore her, because as the huntsman cut a strip of sheet from the bed, the prince stroked the girl’s face. ‘I should kiss her,’ he murmured.
‘No you really shouldn’t.’ Petra glared at him. ‘That would be all manner of wrong. If someone kissed me without my permission – handsome travelling prince or not – I’d punch them.’
The huntsman laughed. ‘She has a point.’
‘She’s a princess. I’m a prince. I’m
supposed
to kiss her.’
‘We need to talk about the dungeons—’ the huntsman started.
Two things happened at once. The huntsman wrapped the strip of cloth tightly around the tiny salved cut and stopped the next tiny droplet from escaping the wound; the prince ignored Petra’s warning, lowered his mouth to the sleeping princess’s and kissed her.
A sudden tremble ran through every stone in the building, and then, as the prince lifted his lips from hers, the girl on the bed gasped and then coughed, and then her eyes opened.
‘She’s waking up,’ Petra whispered. In the glass by the bed, the rose came into full, beautiful bloom.
A clattering noise came from somewhere close by, followed by a brief exclamation. Outside, a horse whinnied.
‘Not only her,’ the huntsman said, getting to his feet. ‘They’re
all
waking up.’
‘We’ve lifted the curse,’ the prince said, his hand still holding the princess’s.
As the city came alive around them, all three travellers stared at the beautiful girl on the bed who was slowly easing herself into a sitting position. Colour was rushing back into her face as if with the curse lifted her body was restoring itself to perfect health. She looked at them, her eyes bleary.
‘Who are you?’ her voice was soft and sweet. ‘What happened?’ She looked down at her bandaged finger and the blood on the floor below and her eyes widened, her confusion gone. ‘There was a spindle! Rumplestiltskin!’
‘I’m a prince from a faraway kingdom,’ the prince said. ‘My father had heard legends of your city’s plight and we came to save you.’ Petra could clearly see that the young prince was in the process of falling head over heels in love. ‘I woke you with a kiss,’ he finished.
The woman on the bed smiled at him and either chose to ignore the fact that the bandage was more likely to have saved her than a stolen kiss, or wasn’t awake enough to think it through properly.
‘How long have I been asleep?’ she asked.
Petra thought of the lines that had been scratched into the statue at the centre of the sleeping city.
‘We think nearly a hundred years,’ she said softly.
The princess said nothing for a long moment and then, just before the soldiers burst into the room, she muttered that one word again.
‘Rumplestiltskin.’
A
s it turned out the princess wasn’t a princess at all but a queen, and her name was Beauty. As the city woke from its slumber she declared the day a holiday and ordered the kitchens to prepare a great feast to celebrate. She was a whirlwind of light and laughter and the huntsman saw that the prince was dazzled by her. She, in turn, seemed quite taken with him, and she kept her arm linked with his as she walked through the castle with her guests.
‘My poor father, the king, has only been gone six months,’ she said. ‘We were a city in mourning but now we must put that behind us and look to the future.’ She looked up at the prince and smiled. ‘And I can’t thank you enough for saving all of us from this terrible curse.’
‘We— I –’ the prince said, ‘– am your humble servant. I would have slain a dragon to save you.’
‘But why would anyone want to curse you?’ Petra asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Beauty answered. She frowned. ‘I can’t remember. I just know that it was Rumplestiltskin.’ Her voice was soft and her frown deepened into puzzlement. ‘Uncle Rumple.’
‘Your uncle?’ the prince said. ‘But that’s terrible. He must want the crown for himself.’
‘I called him my uncle,’ Beauty said, ‘but he wasn’t a blood relative. He was my father’s closest advisor.’ Her frown dissolved into sadness. ‘I thought he loved me.’
‘Everyone loves you, your majesty.’ A middle-aged man dressed in heavy, fur-lined robes swept along the corridor towards them. ‘You must never forget that.’ When he reached them, he bowed deeply. His dark eyes were sharp under his bushy eyebrows. ‘Let your faithful advisors worry about such things. He will not get close to you again, that much I personally guarantee. For now, you should put it out of your head and be glad that such a dashing prince has restored all to order.’
He smiled at the prince who beamed back, happy to be at the centre of such adulation, but the huntsman caught the sharp edge to the older man’s smile and the hint of nervous energy escaping from him.
‘Thank you, First Minister.’ Beauty said. ‘You have always been so very good to me.’
‘That’s because I know and understand you, your majesty. Let your council worry about such things; you should all be bathing and preparing for the feast,’ her advisor continued. ‘Tonight is for celebration!’
‘You’re right.’ The queen rose up on tip toes and gave the man a kiss on his bearded cheek. ‘You are so often right. I just wish I could remember. There are always so many things I can’t remember.’ She clapped her hands together, her smile restored. ‘But let us retire to our rooms and prepare. Later there shall be music and dancing and everything will be well in the world again.’
The huntsman let the small group walk ahead and hung back with the advisor. ‘What does she mean when she says there are things she can’t remember?’ he asked. ‘Is she ill?’
‘No, no,’ the first minister said smoothly, picking up his pace to return the huntsman to the group. ‘She has had occasional small memory blackouts since she was a child. They are nothing unusual. Nothing to concern you.’
The huntsman smiled and followed him, but his skin prickled. He might not be a man of court, but he was pretty sure that whenever someone said there was nothing to concern him, it meant exactly the opposite.
T
he huntsman did not take much time preparing for the dinner, choosing to keep his own clothes on after washing rather than wear the fancy shirt and trousers left for him in his room. These people were not his people and while he would be polite and respectful, he had no desire or need to impress them. As far as he could tell his job was nearly done. He just needed to get the prince safely home again.
He catnapped for half an hour or so and then wandered the castle and grounds for an hour. After the stillness and silence of their arrival it was strange to see the people suddenly active, like dolls brought back to life. Did they even know how long they had slept, he wondered, as women scrubbed dust from the floors and men polished windows. Most were laughing and talking excitedly, but here and there some cast suspicious looks his way and kept their heads down as they scurried to their next task.
In the central corridors of the castle he passed groups of gentlemen and ministers, each dressed like the first minister but with perhaps less fur and finery on their robes. A few were huddled in deep conversation, only breaking away and pretending mirth and laughter as he went by. Were they plotters, he wondered. The young queen was sweet and kind; were these old men trying to take her kingdom from her? He tried to push the thought from his mind. This was not what he was here for. This kingdom’s problems were none of his business.
He climbed high up into one of the turrets, wanting to get a view of what lay to each side of them, but as he reached the summit he was stopped by two soldiers. They were not boys, but men; thick set and gruff. Beyond them, a large black bell hung in a recess.
‘You’re not allowed up here,’ the largest of the two men said. ‘Everyone knows that.’ His hand was on his sword, and the huntsman raised his hands slightly.
‘I’m just a visitor,’ he said. ‘I wanted to see the view.’
‘Then use the windows. This tower is out of bounds. Only the ministers are allowed up here.’
They took a step forward and the huntsman retreated back down the stone stairs. Why would a bell need guarding? Why did he get the feeling that this castle was filled with secrets? There was only one person who could give him the answers: the traitor Rumplestiltskin, wherever he was.